Haren
by Nebulad
Summary: Solas was balanced precariously on the back of the couch, the only real piece of furniture in the room. He didn't seem to fear falling, and indeed when he drew back too far and Saevin jolted upwards in alarm, his magic caught him and straightened him out- he didn't even seem bothered by how close he'd come to hitting the ground. [Republished with format fixed- hopefully]


I'm going to throw this site right into the dumpster I'm so sorry I have no fucking idea why it block formatted. Promise it wasn't like that when I published it. Oh my goodness what a nightmare. Oh my god. [ALL RIGHT NEW PLAN APPARENTLY, this is my third upload and we're gunna see if this works now oh my goodness I'm so sorry for this nightmare].

. . . . . .

She watched him paint from a nest of pillows and blankets on top of an unused scaffolding. She was bundled up and he was wearing a thin, ragged green tunic that hung from him with no better purpose than to catch plaster. There were no sleeves, only the drape of the fabric over his chest and back tied at the waist, and it was torn down the front from what looked like an animal claw swipe. She could see the old scar mirrored on his chest and she burrowed her head into the blankets to try and hide her blush. _You can't keep gawking at him, Saevin, he's... not for you. He's older and smarter and... and an incredible kisser, who speaks Elvish, who has a pet name for you in Elvish because he didn't want to call you _da'len_ anymore_. She chewed her lip and peeked out at him again.

He was balanced precariously on the back of the couch, the only real piece of furniture in the room. He didn't seem to fear falling, and indeed when he drew back too far and Saevin jolted upwards in alarm, his magic caught him and straightened him out- he didn't even seem bothered by how close he'd come to hitting the ground. "_Haren_, are you... all right?" she asked tentatively, pulling the blanket over her shoulders.

"H'm? Oh, of course I am, _da'vin_, do not trouble yourself. I have been doing this for a very long time," he assured her, smiling up at her nest. She nodded, but remained upright. "Come here for a moment, would you?" He offered her his hand from where he stood, so she got up and slid down the ladder to stand nearer to him. "I was trying to paint you closing the first Rift, but I think I should reconsider the design. You have too many details to be rendered in such a manner," he murmured, almost to himself. His hand was against her face and brushed across her cheek, which she willed not to turn red.

"Details, _haren_?" she asked, trying to look anywhere but his eyes. They were steel blue and were dragging across her face to trace the shadows and angles that were there, and his lips were pink and full...

"Your freckles. Your scars. Where did you get so many cuts on your face?" he asked softly, running his thumb down the thickest one against her cheek. She grinned nervously.

"Nothing terribly exciting. I was good at... primal magic? Spells that used trees and branches and vines, old Keeper things. I over practised and lost control a few times, ended up slicing my face open," she explained faintly. He nodded thoughtfully, as if it wasn't one of Saevin's more embarrassing stories.

"They give your face fascinating dimensions," he said, finally letting his fingertips drop. She smiled, rolling her weight back on her ankles. "Not that your face requires any assistance to be pleasant to look at," he added, smiling in his teasing way. She shifted backwards a few steps, her face frozen with a coyness she didn't rightly feel.

"You're teasing me, _haren_," she scolded, moving back to her ladder. He caught her before she got too far away.

"Only a little. _Abelas, da'vin_, it was not my intention to make you uncomfortable," he said, bowing his head. She shifted, but accepted his apology.

"Why _da'vin_?" she asked on impulse. She had been ecstatic when Solas had mentioned in passing that he no longer found da'len a suitable title for her- _you grow more powerful by the day and are much more willing to take advice where you can find it. It would be... inappropriate, perhaps is the word, for me to continue referring to you as a child_. Then he had replaced it with_ little storm_, which she wasn't sure was better.

"_Storm_ is a direct reference to your preferred type of magic, and _little_... well, elves simply used to be taller," he said, shrugging as he turned back to his plaster wall. She stared for a moment.

"I'm short?" she asked.

"Surely that is not news to you?" he said with a grin, his eyes still trained to the fresco as if he could see what painting would appear there.

"Well compared to you, yes, but you're the one who's tall," she said, walking up to him. The top of her head reached just past his shoulder and as he looked down at her she felt a shiver run down her back. It was such an eerie thing, as if she wasn't speaking to the Solas she knew, but rather some sort of... alternate version. Someone buried deep within his gut that never saw the light.

"Sorry, _da'vin_, but the elves were roughly my height- perhaps a little shorter, certainly, but you only just reach over Varric's head," he said. He wasn't wrong, either. She frowned.

"Is there anything about me that's like the old elves?" she asked. She had thought that once she left her clan behind perhaps the feelings of inadequacy would stop- evidently it was a vain hope as the criticisms simply became more physical. He seemed to sense her frustration, because he backtracked.

"I did not mean to imply that you were _entirely_ unlike them because of your height. There are many ways that you remind me of them, the... visions that I have seen in the Fade. The resemblance is so striking sometimes that I sometimes forget that you are not one of them," he said fondly. He had turned his attention entirely away from his wall, which didn't seem to require him anyway- the plaster was solidifying.

"A vision?" she asked, hardly believing her own nerve. She had never... liked anyone, not properly. The boys in the clan had avoided her staunchly- she had been born in an alienage, and forgetting that, she was going to be a Keeper one day. It was a position that afforded respect, and in her own opinion, a little too much. While the others had shyly practised kissing in the shade of the trees when the adults retired to their aravels, Saevin had practised magic that scarred her face when she began to droop. Solas was... new territory, to say the least. He certainly wasn't a green boy from a foreign clan at an _Arlathvenn_ that she had managed to coax away from the party to kiss her wetly and rut sloppily against her.

He smiled. "No, Saevin, I _know_ you are a vision." He always managed to one-up her, even if she deigned to be as flirtatious as she dared. She moved her eyes from his face to his chest, feeling so slow crawl of colour down her neck. He laughed quietly. "I apologize again, Inquisitor."

"You don't have to, _haren_," she mumbled, mortified at being such an open book. She remembered hunters telling stories about the Hero of Fereldan- how she was brave and seductive, how she had won the heart of the Antivan Crow by smiling at him after battle, and covered in blood as she was he couldn't resist her. Saevin had tried to model herself after Tabris, but...

"Why _haren_?" he asked softly, suddenly a bit closer to her than he had been. She looked up at him again. _It isn't like you could be any more humiliating_, she told herself.

"Uhm... because you're smart and... older than me?" she asked. His ears dropped ever so slightly though the rest of him stood still. "I-I mean I assume you are, I don't actually... know." _Apparently you can_. "Are you?" she asked, her voice barely a squeak. _You very, very much can be the most embarrassing person in any room._

"Older than you?" He moved away and she frowned. She hadn't wanted that. "Yes. Quite a bit too, probably." She reached for his hand as he moved back to his wall (to stare, no doubt, because he always pretended to be engrossed in his art when she watched him) and held him where he was.

"Does it bother you?" she asked. She didn't like playing games with him; she didn't like trying to guess how he was feeling. She didn't get it, she never had. Josephine scolded her for her obliviousness to social cues but she had never been around anyone long enough to grasp clues beside you've overstayed your welcome. She liked Solas but she didn't like feeling like an idiot every time he cooled off.

He turned to face her, leaned over, and kissed her. He was still fantastic at it, still mildly frantic. He pulled her hips towards him, balancing his weight on his palm beside her on the table. He managed to successfully pull away on his second try. "It... does tend to remind me of our age difference," he admitted.

"What does?" she asked faintly, her hand still clutching his collar. He smiled.

"_Haren_. I am older than you, no doubt, but I wonder if that is how you see me?" he asked. She shook her head, pulling him down to kiss his cheek. If she dared to move for his mouth they'd be there all day- and upon reflection, why was she avoiding that again?

"I don't," she assured him quietly. "You're you, it's just... habit. Old Dalish propriety." He rolled his eyes, but rested his forehead against hers. "You can kiss me again... if you wanted to, _lethallin_," she added, her voice barely a whisper. It was a poor time for her to turn shy, but he was so close that she could feel how hot his skin was and feel every breath he took. He hadn't been so close in Fade-Haven when she had finally gathered her nerve, but perhaps she was bolder in the Fade, like he was.

"I assure you, Saevin, I almost always want to," he promised, leaning her back so she could lay on his oddly empty table. She supposed, as he gently prodded her mouth open, that it was a much more comfortable position for both of them- he didn't have to support her weight and her spine wasn't arched (much). As he shifted so he was more fully on top of her, though, with his knee parting her legs, she allowed herself to think that maybe he had a few ulterior motives.

The hickey she came away from the encounter with only seemed to confirm the notion.


End file.
